


stretching out toward the horizon (my heart aching to touch you)

by awesomelesbiansurgeon, MatildaSwan



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yoga, Bernie gets some therapy, F/F, Family Dinners, I cannot believe there is a tag for that i mean honestly, Massage, Mental Health Issues, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Raf/Fletch solidly in sight, Raf/Fletch visible on the peripheries, Slow Burn, but still a minor ship so not putting it in the major tags, dinner date, everyone is okay tho they have support
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9699947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomelesbiansurgeon/pseuds/awesomelesbiansurgeon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/pseuds/MatildaSwan
Summary: Bernie has no idea how this happened. Has no idea what point the conversation shifted from how Charlotte loves her new hobbie to how much Bernie would love it too. Has no when it from Charlotte doing it to Charlotte doing it with Bernie. Bernie has no idea how she agreed join Charlotte's new yoga class but nevertheless she did.Which is how she ended up here: lying beside Charlotte on a blue stretching mat with her thighs clad in pink and purple camo pattered tights and her knees pressed against her chest holding something called a “happy baby pose”.At least the instructor is worth a look at, Bernie thinks, all sloping curves and taut muscles wrapped up in bright colours with patches of visible sweat crusted bare skin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bernie was injured approx. 4 year prior to the setting of this story. Other significant change to canon relevant to this chapter: Bernie's divorce was finalised prior to the tour of duty that ended her military career and had nothing to do w Alex. 
> 
> CW: physical trauma, disassociation trigger warning for the description of Bernie's thought process while she was injured by the IED and her fear of paralysation (Matilda is pretty sure she made herself disassociate she was writing it so, like, watch out)
> 
> ALSO SORRY FOR THE MULTIPLE POSTS the servers kept fritzing when I was trying to post and they decided to post a buch of copies and whoops now here we are. Thank you to everyone who left kudos on the copies i had to delete, they were appreciated :)
> 
> Alors, we present to y'all: the yoga class Berena AU literally no one even thought about let along asked for.

Bernie has no idea why she agreed to this, no idea at all, honestly has no clue what she was thinking at the time. She has no idea what vacant recess of her mind she was occupying when Charlotte stared talking about her newest obsession and Bernie kept listening. She has no idea at what point the conversation went from being about how much Charlotte loves it to how much Bernie would love it too; at what point it went from Charlotte doing it to Charlotte doing it with Bernie. Bernie has no idea how she let Charlotte drag her along to her new afternoon beginners yoga class.

Bernie might not have an idea how it happened but it happened nonetheless and now here she is: her back on a blue stretching mat beside Charlotte holding something called a “happy baby pose”. Bernie could not care less if the baby is happy and giggling or crying their eyes out: she feels like a twat. Does, indeed, wonder if her twat is currently out, given she has her hands on her feet and her knees wide apart and pressed to her chest. She feels like her absolutely _everything_ is on display for anyone to see.

Not that a single other person in the room is looking, of course, a fact Bernie knows — they are all too busy stretching their own hips out — but it is the principle of the thing. At least the tights Charlotte bought her are extremely stretchable. That bit about the tights, at least, is a relief. The pattern of them, on the other hand, is most certainly not: camouflage print in gleaming white, deep purple, and vibrant pink so bright it is almost fluro.

Bernie knows Charlotte bought them as a joke to take embarrassing photos of Bernie when she tried them on. But they ended up fitting perfectly and Bernie, though she was loathed to admit it, thought they were made of very comfortable material. So she had kept them and wore them to Charlotte’s yoga class in retaliation. For talking her into coming to the damn thing in the first place.

“Alright everyone, breathe out and release,” the instructor’s voice rings out through the studio.

Bernie lets go of her hand and drops her legs back onto the floor. Wiggles a little and enjoying a few seconds of not doing anything she has before she has knows she has to move into the next pose.

“Now I want everyone up in a bridge pose. Like this…” the instructor trails off as she raises her hips in the air and keeps her shoulder blades flat on the ground.

She sees Charlotte effortlessly lift up into the pose out of the corner of her eye and tries not to scowl. Bernie takes a deep breath in and presses her palms into the ground as she raises her hips. Keeps breathing deeply as she holds the pose for the count.

“Okay, great. We’re going to move into the bound angle and hold it, before sliding back to the reclining.”

Bernie looks up at the instructor, sitting up and stretching her legs straight out in front of her, before bringing her feet together in front of her to make a diamond of her legs. Bernie does the same, mimicking the woman when she drops her knees and brings her hands to her big toes. Bernie relaxes into the stretch and takes a moment to look around the room.

It is full of people. To be expected, really, at the beginning of spring with the weather fine and people trying to thaw out their bodies and get their health back on track. In front of Bernie is a chubby woman who moves through poses with confidence and gusto and next to her is a waif of woman sitting as if she expects a light breeze to carry her away. The woman in front of Charlotte must be pushing seventy and moving with more grace than Bernie has managed in her whole life.

The space next to Charlotte is filled by a pair of petite twins sitting next to one another on mismatching mats. A mother and her teenage daughter stretch with the exact same posture over to Bernie’s left and just next to them is woman about Cameron’s age that Bernie she thinks might be pregnant. Knows the woman just inside the corner of Bernie’s peripheries definitely is: her stomach is even bigger than the gravity defying afro she is currently rocking.

The rest of the room looks to be mostly women, but Bernie spotted some facial hair and something Charlotte had called a “man bun” in the crowd before the class started. What made it manly Bernie did not know — it looked like a regular old bun to her — but it’s not like Bernie knows anything about hair anyway so who is she to question. Only Man Bun has managed to line himself up with Bernie’s view of the instructor and is a bit miffed she cannot see properly anymore.

“Alright everyone, hands down beside you and slowly lower yourself down.”

The voice pulls Bernie out of her revere and she looks at Charlotte already lowering herself down to her elbows. Bernie puts her palms on the floor and sinks slowly towards the floor.

“Remember to take it easy and don’t push yourself - if you need extra support stay up and give me a signal and I’ll get you as I go around the room.”

She lays her back on the mat and holds it. She can feel her muscles relax and pull, and feels a hum roll around in her throat. She has to admit, stretching does feel good. Keeps holding and slowly releases the stretch at the instructors request.

She follows the directions into the next, kinking her right leg and drawing it up her body to hang over her chest. Bring her left leg up to hang at the knee, threads her arms through the gap and holds. Breathes. Looks around the room again.

The room is full of people in an assortment of colours: blacks and greys and whites, of course, as well as blues and greens and pinks and purples. Block colours and patterns and pastels and brights. The assortment of colours worn in the room is matched by the rainbow of stretching mats they are all sitting on.

Bernie herself is in assorted colours. She had not expected that: her usual work out gear is one of her grey t-shirts, so old the embroidered RAMC is starting to fray along with the seams at the collar, and a pair of grey shorts. Grey is just the colour she associates with exercise: grey clothes for a jog along grey streets under a grey sky. Which is great, she loves grey, because is the closest she can get to silver most of the time.

She loves colours, too, which is why she is wearing a magenta singlet to match the brightest pair of pants she has ever owned. A bright singlet from her actual wardrobe to match the pants bought for her as a joke. Truth be told, she sort of loves them, definitely loves them more than the black and slate grey mixed with the brighter blues and pinks she sees in almost everyone else’s tights.

Except for the instructor, currently weaving through the bodies on the floor. Next to Bernie she might is the brightest person in the room. Marbled apricot sports bra underneath a bright yellow spaghetti strapped singlet and deep plum tights. On anyone else it might look garish, Bernie thinks, but the curves wrapped up in all that colour go a long way to making it seem like the perfect combination. Perfect combination of bright colours and bare skin and taunt muscles: curves and muscles on display and well defined in tight material.

The whole image is definitely something to look at and Bernie takes a second to appreciated as she breathes and relaxes. There is a flurry of movement as the whole room swaps legs. Bernie settles back in the pose and looks around the room again, at the room itself this time.

She notes that the walls, specifically, painted yellow and completely bare. Not a thing to decorate them, save the skirting line two feet down from the join of the ceiling. The room itself, before everyone filled it, was just as plain. Bernie had noticed as much when got there fifteen minutes early for class, to make sure she was on time to meet Charlotte ten minutes before class.

It has surprised Bernie, when she had first stepped into the studio, just how empty the space had been. She understood the absence of furniture, of course, the floor was covered in bodies. But when she imagined the studio after agreeing to join Charlotte she always saw it filled with statues and patterned hangings and art and incense in the air. She had expected there is be more…things…in the place but the room is just _bare_ except for the stretching mats and the people on them.

People were moving to sit up on the stretching mats, Bernie notices, realising they are not longer threading the needle. People were not even on their backs anymore, but rather on their fronts: and bent up at the hip with one leg kinked in front of them and holding their weight on their hands. Bernie managed to miss all the instruction and looks at Charlotte’s perfect posture as she tries to figure out what she is meant to be doing.

“Is everything okay?” A voice, velvet warm and honey rich, whispers to Bernie left. She turns to see the instructor looking quizzically at her.

“Sorry, I was miles away.” Bernie smile ruefully. “I missed the directions.”

“We’re doing the pigeon pose,” she says and gestures to move Bernie’s leg where it is supposed to be. “Move up like this and you ought to feel it—”she breaks off when Bernie hums softly as the stretch pulls and her eyes flutter shut. “Yep, I think you’ve got it.” Bernie can hear the smile in her voice and smiles back: nods her head as she keeps her eyes closed.

“Everyone gently drop to the floor, if you can, and if anyone needs a bird boost give me a signal.” Bernie can hear her voice lose the smile as it reverts back to the gentle boom that carries across the room with ease.

Bernie gently stretches forward, and thinks, about Charlotte stretching next to her. Thinks of how lucky she is to spend so much time with her daughter. How happy she is they have the relationship they do how often they spend time together. Catch ups over coffee and random weekend shopping trips and advice on university classes and constant gossip. The easy going affection that runs deep between them both now.

It is a closeness Bernie never imagined, and certainly never expected, from the teenage daughter who constantly screamed at her mother about being horrible and selfish and never at home and slammed doors rather than make eye contact whenever Bernie was actually home. The teenager who blamed her mother for her father’s heartbreak and supposedly ruining all their lives. The teenager who had vowed never to speak to Bernie once she turned sixteen, who meant what she said and never answered any of Bernie’s call and send back every one of her letters, unopened, until long past her high school graduation.

Sometimes Bernie has to pinch herself, to reconcile that Charlotte with this Charlotte: the one that invites her to films and gallery openings and, of course, yoga classes. The Charlotte that calls her for ice cream and comfort whenever she gets her heart broken. Who cried on Bernie’s shoulder after the first date she got stood up on and after she almost failed her first class at university and in the car on the way back from the party where she found her current crush in bed with her best friend.

Charlotte had called her drunk and tired and sobbing her heart. Bernie kept her on speaker phone as she drove an hour in the middle of the night to pick her up and take her home. Put her to bed and stroked her hair as she cried herself to sleep in the spare room of Bernie’s flat because Charlotte asked her to be there in the morning. Bernie could never, even in her wildest dreams, imagined having that kind of closeness with her adult daughter and it makes up for the almost dying she had to for it to happen. 

Bernie breathes as the room moves out of the pose to swap legs. She manages to hold in the hum this time, closes her eyes again, and thinks. Think it is funny, really, how almost dying can spook an estranged child into talking to their mother again. Well, it would be, except for the bit about getting blown up in the desert and waking up strapped to a board in a neck brace to keep her still and her spine intact in case she moved and broke her back and never moved again.

It would be funny if paralysis were not the single greatest fear of Bernie’s life. If she had not been trapped in her own unmoving body for what felt like an eternity as they air lifted her away from her duty and her comrades and her rank. Trapped in her body with nothing to keep her company save the ringing in her ears and her racing mind. Her racing mind that kept thinking and thinking —what if, what _if_ she was going to die what _if_ she never got up off this slab what _if_ she never walked again, what _if_ , what if— thinking the whole flight back to homeside. Thinking the whole trip to the hospital and during the consultations and before the surgery and for a few agonising minutes after she woke up before they told her the surgery went well and she could serve her country again.

Which is why Bernie tries to think it is funny how blowing up her body and bruising her soul and breaking her heart was what repaired her relationship with her daughter. Because the only other alternative is the whole thing was a completely tragedy and that is something Bernie simply cannot handle.

But it is something she can handle better now; now that she talks these things through with her therapist. Now that she can find silver linings in things and handle it better because it is no where near as terrifying and tragic as it once might have been. But Bernie still needs to find it funny, this thing that happened to her, because how else could she have survived it. And she did, Bernie reminds herself, she did survive it.

She shakes her head to dislodge her train of thought. Tries her best to let her thought flit through her mind without graphing on to any and letting them grow. Breathes deep as she lets her thoughts float away until she feels herself calm. The session wears on and the poses continue and she stretches and pulls and turns and flips her body through one form to another and another until the class winds down with ten minutes of relaxation: closed eyes and deep breathing.

Bernie lies back and settles herself, letting herself melt into the floor: turns her attention to her body now her mind is calm. She feels as if she has had a throughly decent work out because she is sore and stretched and tired. She thinks she might not have had a work out like this since leaving the army. There is only so much physical torment one can be expected to put themselves through and Bernie’s quota is jogging. But this kind of exercise is different: moves muscles she did not know she had, and makes them work in ways Bernie had never tried. It is different and it feels good: Yoga makes her feel good.

Bernie does not want to admit it, and she still hates it on principle, but it does feel good. Great, even. She feels great. And hungry. She realises she feels very hungry and then that all she can think about as she lies on the floor relaxing. She can feel her stomach start brewing a growl and is thankful to keep it contained until the class is properly over. It rumbles think thunder as she pulls herself up from the floor.

“You’ve got time for lunch, haven’t you?”

“Of course,” Charlotte says as her stomach lets out a gurgle too. “You’re buying, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Bernie huffs good naturedly. “Isn’t that what parents are for?”

Charlotte shots her a wolf grin and Bernie starts to walk towards the door.

“Hang on, I want to say hi to Serena.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d already made a friend! You’ve only been coming a few weeks,” Bernie say, once again marvelling at her daughter’s uncanny ability to make friends everywhere she goes. Bernie always thought Charlotte got that from Marcus, along with herability to fill silences with complete sentences.

“Serena is the instructor, Mum, weren’t you listening when she introduced herself?”

Bernie had, in fact, not been listen at all for the first five minutes of the lesson. There had been a spot the carpet that looked like a burn by the foot of her mat and she spent the time wondering how it got there.

“Eh, yeah, um…” Bernie trails off lamely and Charlotte pins her with a stare and purses her lip. Charlotte might have gotten most of her temperament from Marcus but that angry pout is all Bernie: lined mouth with down turned corners. Bernie wilts a little under the mirror image staring at her.

“Um, so lets say hello,” Bernie squeaks out and swishes away and towards Serena. Charlotte follows close behind with a huff.

Serena is already chatting with someone so they wait patiently until the other student leaves. The room is empty save the three of them now.

“Hi, Serena,” Charlotte says and Serena turns around. Her face lights up when she sees who it is.

“Charlotte, darling!” Serena pulls her into a hug with Charlotte returns tightly. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

They break apart and Serena asks Charlotte about classes and Charlotte starts telling about her latest research topic and Bernie stands back to let them chat.

She tries her best not to bounce impatiently on the balls of her feet: she really is very hungry. She looks down at the floor and tries to ignore the gnawing in her stomach. She is counting the flecks of colour in the multicoloured twirls of wool spotted through the blue grey carpet.

A set of purple sheer toenails appear in Bernie line of sight and she looks up to see Serena standing in front of her with a small grin.

“And must be Charlotte’s mother,” Serena says with confident. “She mentioned she was going to try and drag you along. I’m glad she succeeded.” She says, seeming genuinely pleased. For some reasons that seems to please Bernie. 

“So am I.” Bernie finds herself saying, surprising herself by meaning it too. “Eh, Charlotte wanted to thank you for the class, so, um, thanks.”

Serena’s eyes crinkle when she smiles wide.

“You’re welcome, um…” Serena trails off and Bernie realises woman has probably only heard her refers to as “mum”.

“Bernie,” she fills in the blank and sticks out her hand. Serena’s shake is surprisingly firm.

“Bernie, you are very welcome,” she says and looks down at Bernie’s thighs. “And I must say, I’m loving the tights.”

“Gift from Charlotte,” Bernie says with a chuckle. They both look over at Charlotte who back with a smirk. “She never thought I would actually wear them though,” Bernie explains. Charlotte scrunches up nose takes out her phone and goes to lean against the wall.

“I’m glad you did, they are wonderful,” Serena says, turning back to Bernie. “I might get a pair myself and wear them to class.”

“I’d like to see that!” Bernie quips back without thinking.

“Well, you can, obviously,” Serena says reasonably. “Just come to another session.”

“I, umm, well…” Bernie trails off, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth and worrying it with her top teeth. “I haven’t thought about more classes — I’m not really sure how I got to this one in the first place to be honest — it was to be going to be a one off to make Lottie happy and…” Bernie trails off. Looks at Serena and flops her head to the side.

“Ah, well in that case I’ll just have to get you to think about it then, shan’t I.” Serena seems strangely excited at the idea of having to convince Bernie to return. “So, in addition to all the health benefits of frequent exercise and the sociable nature of a studio such as this, if you return to future classes, you also get the added bonus of seeing me in a wide array of printed tights.” She looks at Bernie with face as serious and resolute as ever she seen. “Interested?”

The steady face manages to last for all of three seconds before Serena burst out laughing. Bernie blinks as Serena throws her head back and laughs at the ceiling; feels laughter works it why up her own throat and and out her mouth. Bernie honks, deep and loud, and Serena’s head snaps down towards the noise. She looks at Bernie with wide eyes and her hand vaguely points at Bernie and she laughs harder than before.

Bernie tried to bring her hand to her mouth to muffle the noise but Serena’s hand on her wrist stops her. Serena shakes her head, flaps her hand, laughs even louder as Bernie keeps guffawing. They cannot stop, feeding off each other, laughing long and loud. They are practically crying by the time they manage to calm themselves down. Bernie wipes a tear off her cheek and looks towards Charlotte looking at them with a mixture of mirth and fondness. She turns back to Serena.

“So, Bernie,” Serena says voice still thick with laughter. She leans closer and whispers from the side of her mouth as if she is conspiring with Bernie. “Can I interest you in more?”

Bernie cannot deny the thrill she feels at spark in Serena’s eye or the smirk on her lip. She blames that thrill, and the shiver that followed, for short circuiting her brain and letting words tumble out of her mouth without her realising what was saying.

“Where do I sign up?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special appearance by a surprise guest! (please note their appearance is not an indicator of canon parallel chronology, we just thought it would be funny for them to appear)

Bernie is well feed, well watered, and well exhausted by the time she gets home that evening. She showers, slips into her pyjamas and sets her alarm. Gets into bed: sleeps easily and deeply.

She wakes up well rested and sore, with a tightness in her shoulders that somehow manages to feel looser than normal. Bernie has no idea how an hour and a half of stretching can make her muscles both coiled and relaxed but she does not spend too much time thinking about it as she gets ready for her shift.

The ward is as calm as any other day and Bernie powers through barely noticing the extra thickness of her limbs. She gets home that night an hour later than she had hoped but half an hour before she expects; decides she would rather take the extra time to go for a run than clean the kitchen. She guzzles some water and wolfs down a protein bar, slips into her running gear and heads out.

The run is easy, by Bernie’s standards: a slow and steady jog through the streetlights as she takes the long way round towards the park a few blocks from her flat. She enjoys the rhythmic pounding on the pavement and the pattern of her breathing: it leaves room in her mind for thoughts of little else. 

She passes another jogger as she loops around the outskirts of the park and a couple playing catch with their dog in the floodlights. She stops on the bridge over the pond because the railings are at the perfect hight to get at her hamstrings; takes a breather to stretch out her back and her calves, then sets off again back home. She stretches her legs on the stairs up to her flat and her arms in the hall way and her back in the kitchen and her neck in the bedroom. Grabs a towel, has a shower, slips into a grey boxers and an old worn t-shirt and stretches her neck again.

She throws on the load of washing she had been ignoring that week and goes to eat dinner. Turns on the radio and finally gets around the cleaning the kitchen. Throws the load in the dryer and sits down with a cup of tea and a book. She sleeps deeply and wake up well rested. 

Wakes up well rested and incredible sore. Her legs are aching, her arms are heavy, and her back is down right angry. She wonders if an elephant sat on her while she slept; remembers she added to her exercise routine that week and messages Charlotte and asks if she ever gets horridly sore a few days after class. Is relieved when Charlotte says yes; that she ought to get a mat and keep up the mild stretching till the delayed response fades.

Her aches show on the ward, as she struggles to get around without wincing when she has enough time to think about how achy her muscles are. Fletch asks why she is limping. He laughs when she says she took a yoga class, thinking she is joking; snaps his mouth shut when he realises she is serious. The death stare she shoots him might have been a bit of a give away. 

She begrudgingly buys herself a mat on the way home. The colour choice is astounding and she starts by tossing up between yellow and orange but the yellow is too dull and the orange is too bright. She ends up buying the blue one instead: something about it feels familiar and calming.

She gets home and stretches out her body as she breaks in the new mat. She is glad she bought it when she notices the carpet is looking a bit crumbly. She targets as many groups of muscles she can think of, finds a few more sets introducing themselves to her, and looks up some videos on how to get better acquainted with them.

She eats dinner, goes to bed: wakes up, goes to work. Comes home, easy on the run and long on the stretch, sleeps. Repeats until the ache in her body lessens. Repeats until she notices the pressure she normally gets in the lower back after a long day of surgery never comes.

Bernie slide into bed: settles herself in warm blankets and realises she is quite looking forward to tomorrow’s class.

 

*

 

She arrives at the studio a bit earlier then necessary and waits around the corner for Charlotte: ends up not waiting at all because Charlotte inherited her sense of time and arrives promptly.

They wait just outside the studio, door closed, and chat about their week. Bernie asks about Charlotte’s classes and ends up with an earful about one particularly irritating boy in every one of her classes that semester.A few other people join them waiting as Charlotte rants; some chat amongst themselves and other wait quietly.

A man with a beard joins the growing group as Charlotte is recounting one class of constant interruptions and mansplaining. He stops when he sees Bernie, eyes wide as if he recognises her; averts his gaze and does not say hello. Bernie notices him glancing her away again, as Charlotte gets vocal about the professor poorly navigating the class. Bernie looks at him, trying to figure out why he looking at her, looks away: looks back, trying to place his face.

“Why are you staring?” Charlotte interprets herself when she notices her mother is distracted and barely listening.

“What?” Bernie snaps her attention towards Charlotte.

“You’re staring, it’s starting to seem rude.”

“I’m not staring!” Bernie’s explains indigently. “I’m looking, occasionally, because someone keeps looking at me but looking away. Like they’re trying to get my attention and then avoid it.”

“That’s oddly profound,” Serena’s voice interrupts Bernie’s trail of thought. Bernie looks around to see Serena on her elbow and an empty pavement: the crowd has dissipated, presumably through the open studio door. Bernie smiles at her and Serena smiles back. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, Mum keeps staring at a man who is apparently her new admirer,” Charlotte says glibly.

“Well, a bit of attention does wonders for the ego, I find,” Serena says drily. “And I can’t say I blame him, what with you in those tights again.”

Serena looks at the same patterned tight Bernie wore last week and Bernie can feel eyes boring into her thighs. Bernie looks down at herself: they are extremely tight, she will admit, but that is the point of tights, surely? And they are very breathable, she reminders herself, even if they leave little to the imagination. Bernie is blushing as she looks back up at Serena: sees the tiny wicked smile and a raised eyebrow and knows she is being teased. 

“What can I say, it’s the Wolfe family charm,” she teases back. “Irresistibility,” she continues smugly. She scrunches up her noes and Serena’s smile widens. 

“Good luck to him, I say,” Charlotte says with a smirk. Makes eye contact with Serena. “He’s going to need it, trying his luck with his one,” she said, nodding her head towards Bernie. Bernie shots her a look; one which Charlotte pointedly ignores in favour of swishing her hair and walking into the studio to lay claim to her mat.

“I take it you’re not interested then?” Serena asks. Bernie pulls her lips in a thin line and shakes her head.

“Not really my type,” she says, and leaves it at that.

“Then why are you staring at him?”

“And I feel like I ought to recognise him?” Bernie explains. “Probably means I met him at work.”

“Work?” Serena manages to make small talk sound like genuine interest.

“I’m a trauma surgeon. Holby City General,” Bernie fills in. Goes on because she feels the needs to tell her more. “AAU, specifically, I run the ward.”

“Ah, so you must be used to getting all sort!” Serena says with a grin.

“You could say that,” Bernie smiles back. 

“Anyway, I’m glad to see you,” she says warmly. “It’s good to have you back,” she says it like she means it and that means more to Bernie than it has right to.

“It, ah, it’s good to be back.” Bernie blushes slightly; pull her thin lips wide and feels her cheeks go rosy. Her face is starting to hurt with all the smiling.

“Shall we then?” Serena asks, reaching forward to brush her fingertips against Bernie’s elbow as she gestures towards the door with her other hand.

“Of course.” Bernie flops her head to the side and follows it into the studio. She goes to stand beside Charlotte at the back of the class and Serena walks to the front to welcome everyone. The class is much the same as last week: some of poses Bernie recognises from Serena’s class, others from her own youtubing, and a few more are new. Bernie listens and stretches and breathes as her body adjusts to each new movement.

She is struggling to keep her knees up crossed in front of her chest and around her shoulders in an embryo posewhen she finally places the bearded man.

“Oh, my god!” Bernie yells as recognition hits her and she drops the pose completely. Her hands slap the ground as her legs flop onto the mat. Most of the room drop their poses and crane their necks around to look at her. She looks back at two dozen eyes, including Richard, looking at her and blushes bright red. “Sorry, just had a thought.”

“Hope it didn’t hurt,” Serena says wryly from the front of the class and Bernie turns beet red.

“Don’t mind me, sorry,” she apologises again as the room, along with a relieved looking Richard, goes back to what they were doing. Except Serena, who stares at Bernie a few beats longer, tiny smile at the corner of her mouth.

Bernie stays a bit embarrassed for the rest of class and tries her best to move from pose to pose without drawing attention to herself. She catches Serena looking her way from time to time: purses her lips and averts her eyes each time. She lets out a sign of relief as Serena calls for relaxation poses and breathes deeply as the class ends.

The room clears out and Bernie walks over to the wall to wait for Serena before Charlotte even asks. She spots herself in the mirrors along the far wall and see her the ponytail barely big enough for its tie sitting at the nap of her neck with half her curls escaped to hang down her face. She wonders why she even bothers tying it up some times: pulls her band out and shakes her head so her hair falls free. She turns back to Charlotte with her hair brushing her ears. She is greeted with a smile: secretive and knowing.

“What?” That smile always means something in Bernie’s experience.

“Nothing,” Charlotte says as she leans against the wall. “Well, actually, you recognised him, didn’t you? In the middle of class.”

“Ah, I, umm,” Bernie tries to stall, then remembers the last time she tried to manoeuvred around one of Charlotte’s pointed questions. It did not end well. She bites the bullet. “Yes, I did.”

“So what did he come in with?” Charlotte asks and Bernie looks at her. “Everyone you know is from work, Mum, I know he would have been a patient. So, what did he come in with?”

“A tap up his arse,” Bernie says stonily faced. Charlotte winces and lets out a little noise equal parts distaste and sympathy. 

“I’m sorry, what?” The tone is incredulous, to say the least. Bernie turns her head to once again find Serena around her elbow.

“Um, I, ah…” Bernie turns beet red. “A patient from the ward, erm, last week, I was just telling Charlotte one of my more interesting patients from last week, with a tap related injury.”

Bernie tries to cover herself as best she can and the poker face she gives Serena almost manages it. But Serena's eye glisten like she is privy to all the secrets in the world and Bernie knows she has been caught gossiping about a patient in an unprofessional, if relatively harmless, manner. 

“Interesting, because one of your classmates has a similar injury two months back,” Serena says, tone high and knowing. “Richard missed weeks of class because of it. Had to be careful when he came back in case he strained something he shouldn’t, still takes it easy just in case.” Serena pauses for effect, Bernie stares at the ground ashamed faced, and Charlotte giggles. “But I think you already knew that, didn’t you Bernie?” Serena gives her a look. “Though I do commend you on trying to cover your tracks and keep patient confidently under wraps.”

Bernie looks up at Serena: equal parts grateful and bewildered for the gentleness of the reprimand.

“And I’d love to hear more horror stories from your ward,” Serena continues, voice light and a touch hopeful. “If you fancy a coffee and a chat?”

“Um, sure, that’d be nice—” Bernie is interrupted by the sound of her own stomach rumbling. Loud. “But some other time though? I’m famished and need to get home — early start tomorrow.”

For a second Bernie swears she saw Serena’s face falls. She blinks and Serena is all warm smiles. She blinks again, still smiles, and thinks she must have imagined it.

“Well then, I guess I’ll see you next week,” she says, possibly a little too brightly, and gestures towards the still open studio door. Charlotte hugs Serena goodbye and walks out.

“Absolutely,” Bernie promises with a smile and follows Charlotte out the door.

 

*

 

Although, as it turns out, Bernie almost misses next week’s classes.

She spends the entire week getting slammed at work. Two seperate serious trauma emergencies with mass injuries wheel though the door that week, on top of higher than normal amount of RTCs because of the rather rubbish weather and surgeries bumped up from ED. But as always Bernie manages, leading her team through the crisis and out the other side, completing the paperwork to go with it.

Thankfully her body does not rebel against her this week but it is a close thing. On top of the shambles of her work week, the gentle ache does make it bit difficult to concentrate on anything when she is home from the ward. She keeps forgetting to put her clothes in the dryer so she ends up wearing the same shirt and jeans to work all week because everything else is stale. Of course, no one notices because she changes into scrubs as soon as she gets there, but the shirt starts to itch after the better part of the week has passed. And she keeps forgetting to go shopping and has to get take out from the curry house around the corner every night. All things considered it could be worse, but it is not a great week for Bernie. She manages to keep her head on her shoulders nonetheless.

Until Tuesday afternoon. A boy comes in with a shattered right femur and few other more minor injuries. His adult brother takes an exception to Bernie and her method of treatment. She handles it as she always does: treats the patient and calms the family enough to leave him to his own devices. Thinks the matter is dealt with and moves on with her afternoon only to find herself with a visit from management towards the end of her shift.

Mr. Hanssen tries to bite her head clean off, reprimanding her one again about the less than stella bedside manner she so often displays. Bernie knows about her brusqueness as much as anyone else, but coupled with her exceptional surgical skills and her rigorous management of the ward, it is rarely an actual problem. Until someone kicks up a fuss on the ward, like today, and threatens to make a formal complaint. Only they never do, and it never really is: a problem, that is.

Bernie knows that, Hanssen knows that, and yet here they both are. Bernie bites back to the urge to scream and goes to sort it out; manages it with less grace and more steadfast logic, but manages it nevertheless.

The only place she seems to keep everything running smoothly for the whole of that week is the operating theatre. That is, until Wednesday, in the final hours of the double shift she is pulling before her days off. The patient develops several complications mid operation and surgery runs late. By a lot. She preservers well past the end of her shift. She breathes a sign of relief after she finished stitching the last incision: she knows she has given the patient a fighting chance.

She also know she going to be late to therapy, maybe even miss it completely. She races to her therapist’s office, barely out of her scrubs, only to somehow manages to arrive not just on time, but early. Helena had scheduled her appointment an hour later than usual that week because of a change in her usual opening times and Bernie had plum forgot.

Bernie is understandably flustered when she sits down to start her session: rambles about the last fortnight in broken sentences and half complete paragraphs as she tries to ground herself. Her therapist manages to keep up with Bernie’s flitting — sensing this is a ranting type of session — and gradually interjects to slow Bernie. Bernie breathes, centres herself, and gets her sentences to follow her thoughts as she sets the pace for the rest of the session.

Once Bernie mentions them, Helena zeros in on Serena’s classes: says she is happy to hear Bernie is adding mindfulness activities to her week. Bernie just sort of grunts at that — that thought had not registered when she had agreed to go — and says it was Charlotte’s idea. She seem to be contented with that and lets Bernie move on and ramble through the rest of the session.

Bernie leaves the offices feeling more relaxed than she was when she went in but also a bit raw, especially her throat. It hurts less than it did when she first started but Bernie is still getting used to using words for an hour at a time and her vocal chords feel the strain more often than not.

She finally eats some green vegetables in the Thai she gets on her way home. Goes to bed as early as she can but sleeps fitfully and wakes the next morning tired and already frustrated. It is supposed to be the middle of her weekend but she remembers she has as stack of paperwork that built up over the week. She decides to spend her morning getting that under wraps before it crushes her in the coming week.

As she works, without her knowing, the ward gets stretched quite thin. Raf gets called away by the school while Fletch was in theatre and begs off the ward with a family emergency. Morven is elbow deep in surgery and has been for hours, and everyone else of use gets called away on consults one after the other. So, just as she has the stack under control and gets ready to leave, Bernie gets called into lead an emergency appendectomy.

She rages in her head as she operates — her team ought be able to do this in their sleep — keeps fuming as she scrubs out. She checks the time, curses, sends Charlotte a message saying she might be late, and races home. Throws on last week’s workout clothes straight from the dryer and decides they are her designated outfit now because she does not have time to search for anything else to wear and three times is a habit. She texts Charlotte saying she is on her way and races out again. 

She is late to the class, but not terribly so, only a few minutes and a warm up poses. Charlotte is happy to see her but Serena looks at her oddly — Bernie knows she looks a fright, hair frazzles and face dazed — so she blurts out an apology and hopes for the best. She is thankful that Charlotte kept the mat beside her free and sits down closest to the door along the back wall

She manages to get through the class by following instructions and not thinking too hard as her mind starts to slow down. Her muscles ease into the stretches and she feels more settled than she has in days. She breathes deeply as they move out of the last poses and moves onto her back for relaxation.

She breathes deep as Serena’s velvet voice entices her to relax: she feels her mind unwind and her body melt through the floor. Lets out a snore, though she does not know it.

 

*****

 

Charlotte does know it, that Bernie is snoring. The gentle wheeze reaches her ear and she looks over at her mother: realises she is asleep and decides to leave her there till the end of class, despite the occasional soft rumble. No one else nearby seems to notice, lost in their own breathing and thoughts, so why should she?

Serena notices too, as she walks through room of lying bodies. She stops walking, sits by the wall at Charlotte’s feet and leans against the wall: is still there when she draws everyone out of relaxation and calls the session over.

Charlotte sits up slowly and leans over to wake Bernie. Serena stops her before she does: reaching out and shaking her head, whispers Bernie can stay sleeping until she wakes naturally. Charlotte looks at her quizzically but is happy enough to leave sleeping dogs lie, and everyone around them takes their queue and leaves as quietly as possible.

Serena closes the front door behind the last of the class and ushers Charlotte towards the door that leads upstairs the the flat above the studio.

“Come on, I’ll make some tea,” she says, hushed tones, as they walk up the stairs.

“Okay,” Charlotte hisses back and happily follows her upstairs, though the living room, and into the kitchen. Serena pops the kettle on and Charlotte looks around the flat: bright and open and homely.

“Milk and sugar?” Serena asks, getting two mugs off their hooks and putting them on the bench.

“One milk two sugars, please,” Charlotte says with a smile. “I like your flat.”

“Thank you,” Serena says sincerely. The conversation lapses for moment as the kettle clicks over and Serena pours the tea. Charlotte dives straight in, milk cooling the hot water enough to sip, while Serena hugs hers in her hands.

“I’m really sorry about Mum,” Charlotte starts and Serena flaps her hand.

“Please, it’s not a problem. It’s quite endearing, truth be told, when a student fall asleep at the end of class. It means I’ve completely tired them out. Though, I’ve never had one sleep quite this long,” Serena add thoughtfully. “So, she must be a busy woman, how did you convince her to come to class?”

“I asked,” Charlotte says simply and sips her tea.

“Really? Is that all?” The disbelief in her voice is evident.

“Well, a couple of times, and spruiked the class a bit first, but basically I just asked and she said yes.”

“God, I wish Ellie made things as easy as that.” The envy in her voice is palpable. “I practically have to bribe her visit on holidays now that she’s got that boyfriend of hers.”

“Ha, no threat of that happening with Mum. Well, probably,” she adds after a pause. “I mean, she’s not seeing anyone, that I know of, so it’s just work that takes up her time, really. And she always finds time when I ask,” she says thoughtfully and drifts off on a thought train for a moment.

Serena notices Charlotte drift off and lets her think. Sips her tea and hums at the warmth sliding down her throat and on her fingertips. Charlotte snaps back to herself and smiles again.

“And thank you for the tea, it’s a nice change to the coffee I’ve been drinking myself silly on to smash through my course work this week.”

“You holding up okay?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Wish I didn’t have a tonne more of it to do though,” Charlotte huffs and checks the time. “Look, I really have to get home, thanks again, and I’ll wake up Mum on the way out and be out of your hair,” Charlotte says as she put the still mostly full cup of tea on the bench.

“No need, really. You head off and get your coursework done,” Serena assures her. “And don’t worry about your mother, I promise she’s in good hands.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose—” Charlotte starts and Serena cuts her off.

“Oh, please, she isn’t the first snorer I’ve ever had sleep though the end of class, and I doubt she’ll be the last. It’s no problem, honestly. I’ll be here when she wakes up to tell her what’s happened so she doesn’t get too spooked.”

“Oh, alright. Thank you, you’re a star!” Charlotte says with feeling. She pulls Serena into a one armed hug, dashes down the stairs and tip toes through the studio, and shuts the front door behind her as quietly as possible.

Serena follows in her wake with two croquet blankets and a book. She switches on the lamp in the corner of the room, soft warm light from the shaded bulb, before crossing the floor over to Bernie’s sleeping form. She covers Bernie, now splayed out with her head turned to one side, with a blanket and smiles fondly down at her dishevelled hair and relaxed face.

She walks over to the light switch and completely turns off the top light; retreats back to the corner with the lamp. She makes a nest of the studio pillows and pulls the blanket around her, settles down to read with the sounds of gentle snores in the background.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to @ktlsyrtis and @troiing/arwenthemuse for being champion betas :)))
> 
> Here, have some backstory for this AU (mentions of past Serena/Edward and Bernie/Alex)

Of course, Bernie wakes up with no knowledge of any of this. All Bernie knows is that she hazes out of her dream and wonders why her bed is much harder than usual. She shuffles around and vaguely registers the absence of pillows under her and thick blankets on her. She sniffles a little bit and cracks open an eye in the mostly dark; sees a wall very unlike her own and realises that the hardness under her back is a floor and that this is not her room or even her home.

She panics slightly and sits bolt upright at the thought of not knowing where she is or how she got there. She hears a gentle voice call her name from the corner of the room and whips around to the direction of the sound: one hand on the floor and the rest of her weight on her hip digging into the stretching mat. The crocheted blanket falls to the floor and curls between her thigh and her wrist.

She sees Serena on the other side of the studio: sitting crossed legged in the middle of a mess of pillows and multicolour wool with a mug in one hand and a book in the other. The gentle glow of the lamp lighting up her face is almost as warm as her smile.

“Evening, sleepyhead,” Serena says kindly as she puts the book on the floor facedown and open. Bernie’s panic ebbs slightly as she remembers lying down and breathing in relaxation and not much else.

“I fell asleep?” Bernie asks as she draws herself up and onto her knees to sit on her feet facing Serena. Serena nods. “God, I’m sorry, I—”

“There’s no need to apologise,” Serena cuts her off and smiles a little brighter.

“Wait, where is everyone?” Bernie never was very quick the first few minutes after waking.

“They all went home ages ago,” Serena says, biting back a giggle. “You were quite tired, apparently, and we didn’t want to wake you. I assume Charlotte sent a text?”

“Oh, umm,” Bernie mumbles as she turns and crawls over to her bag against the wall. She searches for her phone and makes a triumphant noise as her hand makes contact. She sits back on her hunches as it lights up. Her display shows a message from Charlotte: “soz had course work, tnk Serena 4 lookin aft u again pls.” Bernie smiles down at her phone and gets to her feet. She turns back around to look at Serena.

“Umm, thank you, for not making me. Wake up, I mean. I guess this week was harder than I thought,” she says absently and scratches the back of her neck with her free hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Serena asks, tilting her head to the side. There is genuine warmth in her voice that a barely awake Bernie misses. She assumes Serena is just being polite and shakes her head; her sleep creased curls buffet her face.

“No, I couldn’t take any more of your time,” Bernie rebuffs her politely as she slips her bag onto her shoulder. She picks up the blanket and folds it up; walks over to Serena and holds it out. “Thank you, though, I’ll see you next week.”

“Till next week then.” Serena reaches out with a curious look on her face: creased brow and pursed lips shadowed in the lamplight.

Bernie nods and turns away with a swish of her hair. She walks out of the studio and lets the door shut behind her. She walks towards her car and wakes up a little more with each step; unlocks her car and shakes out her body before sliding into the driver seat. She starts the journey home and barely notices the empty streets once her now-awake brain finally registers the curious look on Serena’s face. She pulls up outside her flat still mulling over what that face might have meant.

 

*

 

She keeps thinking about Serena’s face at random points in her week. Thinks about it while she drives to work the next day and while she is getting coffee before her shift. Thinks about it before and after her jogs around the park and while she is stretching tired and well-worked muscles. Thinks about it as she watches Hanssen walks away and down the corridor after giving her another polite bollocking about her supposedly “brash temperament” in the operating theatre. She is still thinking about it when she sits down in her office to start on her pile of paperwork, as she eats a mixed berry muffin over open folders, as she leans over the open filing cabinet to shove some folders in: paper, crumbs, and all.

If she is honest with herself, thinking about Serena is the highlight of Bernie’s otherwise bland week so she does it as often as she can. Tells herself she is just trying to figure out what that curious expression on Serena’s face might have meant.

She thinks she has it pinned as a face of disappointment by Wednesday and wonders if Serena really meant the offer of an ear to listen. If she was really offering to listen, like someone would to a friend. Bernie thinks that maybe Serena was offering to be her friend and part of her hopes she is right. The rest, however, feels a bit odd at thought of having a friend.

She does not have many of those nowadays, not since she left the army behind and Alex even further. Not since she left her comrades in a war zone while she returned to civilian life with a damaged body and broken heart.

Of course she tries, every now and then, to catch up over drinks when they are home between tours. But being around her old friends never feels right. In fact, it feels very wrong. In half her heart she is still a Colonel and their commanding officer and in the other half she is a fraud who left while they are only on leave. She would still die for them in heartbeat, if she were serving, but the problem is she is not. She is not serving and she cannot be around her old friends, Alex least of all.

Her colleagues, on the other hand, she likes well enough. But they are just that: her colleagues. She is happy to share evening drinks or early morning breakfast with them—assuming she managed to avoid stepping on too many of their toes while they were at work and actually gets an invite after their shift ends—but not much else.

Her civilian life is split between work and her family. Not that she minds, she loves them both, but she has not really had the time to make new friends. She thinks about Serena’s curious disappointed face and the possibility of being friends and wonders if she should have stayed. 

She checks the roster as she clocks off on Tuesday night and remembers this is the fortnight Raf requested Thursdays off to look after the kids while Fletch is on nights and Evie is off on a school trip. She agreed to cover his time on the ward weeks ago and then not thought any more about it; she looks now and realises tomorrow is the last Thursday she has free for the rest of the month. She purses her lips in disappointment, thinking she will have to forgo classes entirely, until she remembers Charlotte sending her a weekly timetable when she first talked Bernie into joining her. Remembers there being a bunch of classes and assumes at least one of those will work in with the new roster.

She gets home and flops on the couch as she eats dinner; she scrolls through Charlotte’s messages until she finds the link. Scans the week and finds a few other classes that might work. They all have different names to the one she currently takes but they all have “stretching” in the title so Bernie assumes they are all the pretty much the same thing. She makes a note to talk to Serena about changing classes as she gets ready for bed. Slips into cold sheets and quickly falls asleep.

*****

 

The ward is busy but not frantic the next day and Bernie enjoys the constant steady cycle of patient care, surgery, patient care, paperwork as the morning progresses. She takes a breather around midday; gets a coffee from Pulses and sits outside on a bench. 

She waits for her coffee to cool slightly and checks her phone rather than staring at the carpark or the bark of nearby trees. There is a text from Charlotte, sent about an hour ago, saying she is swamped with deadlines and cannot make it to the class that evening. She considers calling to check in but thinks better of it: sends a “good luck, you can do it!” text instead so Charlotte can read it at her leisure.

Bernie thinks about skipping the class as well—it feels odd thinking of going without Charlotte—then realises if she follows that logic she will not manage another class until next month. As new as the class is to her weekly routine Bernie knows she would miss it if she stopped going. Just like she knows she has been looking forward to class (to Serena) the whole week. Looking forward to it (to her) so much that she is prepared to brave a room full of mostly-strangers by herself.

She sips at her coffee with phone still in hand. She is most of the way though her drink when her phone buzzes with a reply. Charlotte asks about dinner some time after her exams are over and suggests that Bernie chooses from a few specific suggestions she happily supplies. Bernie laughs out loud at the pitifully simple list of things Charlotte thinks she is capable of cooking and shoots back a text saying something can be arranged. Finishes her coffee and heads back to the ward for the afternoon slog with a smile on her face.

She spends most of the rest of her shift in surgery and by the time she scrubs out the tightness in her back is back with a vengeance. She retreats to her office to try and stretch it out rather than endure the tightness until she clocks off. Settles herself on her hands and knees in front of the closed door and moves from a cat pose to a cow pose a few times to warm up. Lowers herself onto the floor and presses up into an upward facing dog; relaxes into the pose as she feels her back unclench. She repeats the movement a few more times, breathes deeply, and draws herself up into a downward dog.

She hears a knock and her head snaps towards the door. It swings open before Bernie has a chance to call out.

“Boss, could you take a loo…” Fletch stops short in the doorway: patient notes in his hand. He looks down at Bernie in her downward arch and she gets the distinct impression that even in scrubs her arse is still on full display. She hears Raf’s voice just behind Fletch and sees Fletch jerk forward a step when Raf bumps into him from behind.

“Fletch, what the…” he trails off too, treated to the same view and Bernie can feel them both ogling.

Bernie, as embarrassed as she as to have two colleagues walk in on her facedown with her bum in the air, refuses to scramble up. She casually walks her hands towards her feet and pulls herself upright. Turns towards them both with her mouth in a firm line.

“What was that, Fletch?”

“Arse.”

Bernie sees red for a second but keeps her voice steady.

“I’m sorry?”

“No, sorry,” Fletch shakes himself out of a daze. “I mean, there’s a patient that we could use another set of eyes on, with a nasty rash on their arse.” He holds out the patient notes in his hand. “Could you take a look at it?”

“Oh, of course,” she says, taking the folder and following the two of them back onto the ward.

It ends up being an allergic reaction to ant bites on top of a poison ivy rash and Bernie moves on to the next bed reasonably quickly. She checks over the patient in the next bed while Raf and Fletch wrap up with Rash.

“Maybe we should take up yoga?” Fletch jokes at Raf as all three move to the next set of beds. “Say, Bernie, when is that class of yours?”

The thought of work encroaching on her classes bothers Bernie. A lot. She panics and wheels around on them in the middle of the ward. Fletch almost runs into her and has to back up a foot or two when she does not budge. He steps on Raf’s toes; Raf gasps and slaps Fletch’s shoulders. Bernie waits for them to settle their footing.

“If either of you so much as thinks of trailing along, I will make your lives very unpleasant,” she threatens, voice low and quiet. “In fact, I will make things as unpleasant for you as possible.” Fletch’s eyes go wide and Raf blinks. “I will put the two of you on alternating shifts for the foreseeable future and make sure that you _never_ see each other, either on or off the ward, ever again.” She means it and they know it: this is not an idle threat.

“Geez.” Fletch lets out the breath he has been holding. “It, I, ah, I was just kidding, Boss.”

“No need to bring out the big guns, Bernie,” Raf looks contrite. “We won’t crash your classes, promise.”

“Right, well, good.” She shakes her head and feels the need to shake herself out of it too. She apologises and they move on. She manages to keep her head for the rest of the shift and counts her blessings as she clocks off.

 

*

 

Bernie wakes later than usual and spends the day pottering around the house catching up on housework and washing. She does as little as possible, part procrastination and part to keep an eye on the time, and successfully manages to get to class on time.

Serena smiles at her as she walks into the studio and Bernie smiles back. Serena’s eyes dart to search over Bernie’s shoulder, presumably for another head of golden curls; Bernie shakes her head when she sees Serena’s brow crinkle. For a moment it seems like Serena is about to walk across the studio towards Bernie until Man Bun walks over to stand in front of Serena. He starts speaking and Serena diverts her attention away from Bernie who walks to the back of the class and takes her usual blue stretching mat.

The class is the usual affair of stretching and sweating and gentle muscle work. Once again Bernie is surprised at how well her body has taken to this form of exercise. Her body hums as she moves from pose to pose and she is rather impressed with the growing grace of her movements.

As much as her body enjoys the exercise her favourite part of class is still relaxation. She manages to not fall asleep this time, thoughts calmly flowing as she breathes in and out, and stands up at the same time as the rest of the class.

She waits as the room slowly empties, half out of habit and half out of hope, that Serena has the habit too. She waits patiently as Serena is quizzed by a few new recruits who have been dragged along by their friends. Bernie catches enough of their conversation to gauge they are weighing up on the benefits of throwing themselves into classes headfirst.

They practically bury Serena under a barrage of queries and their conversation goes on long enough that Bernie is struck with a hit of uneasiness at waiting. Wonders if she ought to just leave. She hears them ask another question and that decides it; she pushes off the wall and makes her way towards the door.

“Bernie!” She hears called across the studio and she stops in her tracks. Turns to see Serena smiling at her as she cranes her neck up to see though a gap between her new students. “Wait? I’ll be right with you.”

Bernie smiles back and folds herself against the wall again. The group take the hint and wrap things up: sign up and leave.

“Hello, you.” Serena walks over to Bernie, smiling brightly. “It’s nice to see you made it through class. Good to know today was interesting enough to keep people awake”

Bernie flusters at Serena’s teasing and runs her mouth before she gets a chance to think.

“Well, I wouldn’t sleep if your presence wasn’t so calming,” Bernie quips back. Serena’s eyes sparkle and Bernie blushes. “I just mean, um, you’re very good at your job.”

“Thank you,” Serena says earnestly. “Charlotte?”

“Uni work. It sounds like she’s buried under it, to be honest.”

“Yes, she mentioned last week,” Serena nods and they fall silent. Neither make to break the conversation. “So, what can I do for you? Or were you just after a chat.”

“Actually, I needed to talk to you about classes. My shifts are about to change and I wondered—” Bernie starts and Serena cuts her off.

“And you want a refund?” Serena asks, arched eyebrow and head tilted.

“What? No, I wanted to, I mean, I just wondered if there is space in your other classes so I could come to one of those?”

“Oh, umm.” Serena seems genuinely surprised. “Of course, come any time you fancy!” She smiles. “Wait, have you got a timetable?”

“Yes, I do, Charlotte sent it to me ages ago,” Bernie assures her. “Thank you, for—” The rest of Bernie’s thanks are drowned out by the rumble of her stomach.

Bernie starts and looks down at her tummy and Serena drops her gaze too.

“Someone is hungry,” Serena teases and catches Bernie’s eye.

“Yes, well, your fault really, your classes always leave me famished.”

“Me too!” Serena agrees emphatically and Bernie has a thought; it tumbles out of her mouth before she has a chance to catch herself.

“Would you, um, if you’re not doing anything, that is, would you like to come with me, grab something to eat?”

Serena smiles bright and Bernie has to blink away the sun spots 

“I’d be glad to.”

 

*

 

Bernie suggests Serena choose the place—there are in her neck of the woods, after all—and offers to drive. Serena shakes her head and chooses a little Italian place around the corner from the studio. Bernie is less than impressed at the thought of walking and scowls as she puts her car keys away.

“Oh, please! The extra exercise won’t hurt you,” Serena cajoles when she notices the creases in Bernie forehead. “Besides, I can already smell the food we’re so close.” Serena sniffs and Bernie follows suit: does indeed get a whiff of tomato and basil.

She starts walking in the direction of the smell and Serena giggles and falls into step behind her. They walk in silence as Bernie concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other. Concentrates so hard she almost misses the actual restaurant and Serena has to grab her elbow and yank her back and guide her inside.

Bernie blushes as the waiter greets them. Is still blushing as they sit down. She hides her face behind the menus and fights the urge to order spaghetti. Normally she never minds being messy eater but the thought of ending up with tomato stains on her face seems repugnant tonight. She decides on the gnocchi instead and Serena orders the chicken and walnut penne and “the largest glass of shiraz they have”.

“What?” Serena ruffles under Bernie’s curious gaze as the waiter walks away. 

“Aren't you supposed to be…” Bernie trails off trying to find the right word. “Health conscious?”

Serena laughs, loud and joyous. “What’s the point in being healthy if you don’t enjoy life?” 

Bernie cannot argue with that logic and nods with a smile. The pleasant silence rolls on as Bernie pours herself a glass of water. Gradually gets a touch tense and Bernie considers making small talk. Is saved from having to chat when the waiter returns with Serena’s wine. It is, in fact, the largest glass of red wine Bernie has ever seen.

She sits back in her chair and watches Serena sips a few times and hum contentedly. Serena catches her watching and smirks over the top of her glass.

“You could have ordered one too, you know.”

 “No, wine after a long day makes me sleepy.”

 “Well, we wouldn’t want you falling asleep on me now, would we?” Acerbic tone and too sweet smile. “Again.”

Bernie blushes again and plays with the edge of the table cloth.

“Oh, stop it Bernie, I’m only teasing.”

Bernie looks down and brushes her knees. Looks up to catch Serena’s eye and smiles. 

“So,” Serena says after a few beats, taking charge of the conversation. “I know your daughter dragged you along but how are you liking classes?”

“Very much! Which is odd because I always thought yoga was a bit rubbish,” Bernie says without thinking. Her face falls when she realises she just insulted Serena and panics. “No, I just mean that, well, stretching and breathing, it never really seemed like my style—the army was all running and heavy lifting and I still like to run—but your classes are great and I really enjoy them,” Bernie blurts out and feels herself going red. Stares at the table and wishes the ground would swallow her up.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Serena says sincerely and smiles into her wine.

“So, um, how’d you get into this in the first place, how did you become a yoga instructor?”

“It just sort of happened, I suppose, when I was at university.”

“Oh, what did you study?”

“Medicine.”

Bernie blinks. “Medicine?”

“Yes? Oh, right, yes! Well, I’m a doctor.” Serena stops and looks down at the table. “Well, I was,” Serena corrects herself, tone flat and dejected. 

Bernie is stuck with the urge to reach across the table and pat Serena’s hand. Except Serena’s hands are still holding her wine. Bernie’s fingers twitch but her hand stays still and Serena continues.

“I was a physiatrist, specialised in rehab and sports medicine. I looked into the potential of alternative medicines as extended rehabilitative aids for my post grad work.” Serena sparks up. “I have to tell you, the science behind it is brilliant, I could go on for hours.” Bernie wishes Serena would, could listen to her talk with that spark in her eye for days. Is about to say so when the waiter returns with their food.

The both look at their food with glee and get distracted by stuffing their faces for several minutes. When both of them have eaten enough to move from ravenous to a bit peckish Serena continues talking.

“Anyway, I was researching yoga so it made sense to train properly, and now here I am,” Serena says and somehow manages to daintily shovel a huge forkful of pasta into her mouth.

“So you higher researched medicine to become a yoga instructor?”

Serena’s face falls and Bernie know she has put her foot right in it.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that sounded. It’s just, that’s so much work, didn’t you want to work in the medical field?”

“Of course I wanted to,” Serena says, a touch indignant. She puts her fork in her food. “And I did, for years.”

“But not now?” Bernie is surprised by her own curiosity. She tries at a joke to cover her own unexpected curiosity. “Get disillusioned with the industry and wanted to look for greener pastures?”

“No, I was struck off.” Serena pauses for a moment and her eyes glint steel. “Well, as good as anyway.”

Bernie feels like she has been dropped kicked.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Yes, you did,” Serena says, knife-sharp and all-knowing.

“Well, yes,” Bernie hangs her head and tenses the hand she has resting on the table. “About you, not about, I didn’t think…” Bernie never was that great with words, not unless she had time to prepare herself. She looks up at Serena again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“I know, it’s okay.” Serena reaches across the table to pat Bernie’s hand. “I just don’t really talk about it.”

“You don’t have to, obviously.” Bernie’s arm tingles after Serena pulls away. “It’s your business, I was wrong to poke.”

Serena smiles gratefully and they go back to eating in silence. Serena’s cutlery clangs on the plate when she finishes and she downs the last of her wine. Bernie feels a strange sense of unease at the thought of their night ending. For all it is a little tense now, she wants to stay. So when Serena asks about dessert Bernie jumps at the suggestion.

Serena order the tiramisu and Bernie get the house special: raspberry and white chocolate semifreddo. Bernie guzzles another glass of water as they wait in silence till their desserts arrive. Bernie’s eyes go wide when she realises her mouth is bigger than her stomach and there is no way she will ever be able to finish her dessert. She looks up at Serena’s glee-filled eyes and does not mind.

Bernie digs in and Serena takes a huge mouthful and rests her spoon on her dessert as she slowly chews. She swallows as Bernie helps herself to a second spoonful of ice cream and Bernie is deciding on which part of the plate to scoop from for the third mouthful when Serena starts speaking.

“There was a lawsuit.” Bernie looks up to see Serena staring at her plate. “I was implicated, because of my ex. He was a new hire at the clinic where I was working. A surprise one, in fact—personnel didn’t blink at two Campbells—and why would they? It’s a common enough name.” There is bitterness to Serena’s tone Bernie has never heard and does not much care to hear again.

“Anyway, he always had a way of getting under my skin, and working together after being separated for so long gave him time to just, _be there_ around me and…” she trails off and looks up at the roof. “God, it’s so embarrassing.” Her head snaps down again and she looks straight at Bernie. “We got back together.” She looks like she half expects Bernie to laugh. Is surprised when Bernie just smiles a tiny reassuring smile.

“Things were fine, nice, for a bit. Ellie was thrilled to have her parent together again,” Serena perks up for a second before slumping again. “Except he was drinking at work. I didn’t know, had no idea, until we were working with the same patient. His recovery stalled because of Edward—clinical negligence. The patient made a complaint and Edward, he…” Serena trails off and takes a deep breath. “He tried to foster the blame onto me. Claimed I was aware of his inebriation and thus culpable. It was utter rubbish, of course, but I had to resign, to save face and then the patient sued and the family named me in the suit anyway and it basically ruined my reputation,” Serena blurts outs the last sentence and braves looking at Bernie.

“I’m so sorry,” Bernie says after a long pause. She cannot manage better than that, has no idea how to respond to this level of trust, and hopes it is enough. Gets the impression it is not and that Serena expects more of her when she flaps her hand and races on a touch forced.

“Needless to say the whole situation was a monumentally terrible mistake. To make matters worse, Edward keep trying to “make amends”—more flowers than a florist. I told him to leave me alone and then he followed me to a friend’s alumni reunion—”

“I’m sorry, he _followed_ you?” It is first reaction to anything Serena has said that Bernie is sure about in what feels like eons and the force of her tone seems to shock Serena.

“Yes,” Serena makes a face. “That was the absolute final straw. I rather lost my temper and he scurried away with his tail between his legs.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“And I’ve always been one to carry life-long, take it to the grave grudges,” she says with a grin. “Needless to say we did not get back together again.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Bernie says, happy to be on solid footing, now that Serena’s tone seems to have settled. Bernie helps herself to another spoonful of mostly melted semifreddo.

“Hmm, anyway, the night wasn’t a total waste. Had it off with a rather eager young Canadian.” Bernie chokes on her dessert and Serena smirks as Bernie coughs. Waits till Bernie has calmed down before continuing. “Younger men do marvellous things for the ego, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I, umm, I, well,” Bernie trips over her words and blushes. “I wouldn’t know, they’re not really my style.”

“Well, to each their own,” Serena says with a laugh. Only it is wetter now than it was earlier, and Bernie cannot shake the feeling that it is the wrong kind of laugh.

They finish their dessert in what ought to be companionable silence but Bernie can feel a thickness that was not there before. It eases slightly when they spilt the bill and they walk back to the studio is fine. They stop in front of the small door to the side of the studio window pane and Serena says goodnight without preamble.

“Goodnight,” Bernie replies and Serena slots her key into the lock. Bernie feels the thickness settle and is suddenly desperate to shake it. “Ah, and, um thank you, for tonight. I, um, I really appreciate it,” she adds, hoping that is enough. That Serena can hear what she is trying to say.

“You’re welcome,” Serena says a with a smile: sincere but too small. “I’ll see you next week then.”

Bernie nods and Serena disappears into the doorway. Shuts the door behind her and Bernie walks over to her car. Drives home hoping she has not messed things up entirely but gets the overwhelming impression that she has.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to @troiing/arwenthemuse for siq beta-ing

Now that the thought has materialised Bernie realises how much she does want to be friends with Serena. Except now that want is all mixed up with the knowledge that she has probably messed things up completely so Bernie wakes up the next morning with worry looming in the back of her mind. 

It is still there as she pulls up in the hospital carpark and when she walks onto the ward. She gets to her office to hang up her bag and reasons with herself that there is nothing to be gain by worrying; pushes it into the back of her mind and keeps her focus on the job at hand. She puts one foot in front of the other and tackles the day head on, for all that she can feel concern niggling at her hippocampus.  

She holds much the same attitude as the weekend wears on; keeps the worry to the back of her mind where it cannot distract her. She manages it reasonably well, until she walks out of her office on Monday morning and the whole ward feels a bit off. She follows the tension to its thickest and ends up standing at the foot of an occupied bed with Raf and Fletch standing on either side. She pretends to read the patient notes as she assesses the situation.

There is nothing untoward about their behaviour, ever the consummate professionals as they treat their patient, but even a hunting knife could not cut the tension pulled taut between them. Bernie wonders if a machete might be in order as she puts the patient notes back in the holder.

The two men realise that Bernie has been sussing them out and they both turn to her with faces half challenging and half contrite. Bernie catches their eyes and purses her lips but says nothing. Neither do they; just keep doing their jobs. Bernie does the same, hoping whatever has happened between them will sort itself out. 

It becomes obvious as the morning wears on towards lunchtime that is has not, in fact, sorted itself out. That the strain is no longer just between the two men but the entire ward. The tension has managed to pull Morven and the other F2’s completely off their game, which is not helped by Fletch occasionally snapping at the other nurses. The ward might be ruffled but it is still running smoothly so Bernie is not overly concerned.

Then Raf and Fletch flare up at each other on the ward; the worry flares to the forefront of Bernie’s mind something fierce. It is a different cause from the original source but now all intermingled and she starts operating on high alert. 

She mediates between everyone as best she can as midday passes; manages their patient load and surgery rotations and the ward rumbles along into the afternoon as well as any other day. But come mid-afternoon Bernie needs a break. Badly. She considers the pack of cigarettes she has stashed in her top draw; decides against them but heads up to the roof for a breather anyway.

She finds Raf in the stairwell on her way up, staring out the window looking dejected. Part of her wants to leave him to it—whatever has happened it is his business and she does not need to pry—and the other half knows that walking away and leaving him there is cruel. Bernie might be a bit bad at other people’s emotions but she is not cruel.

She sits on the window ledge next to him, back to the window and the world outside. Raf starts a bit at the unexpected company and turns his head. He looks at her but does not say anything. Bernie waits for a minute, thinking he might need time to figure out where to start, before realising he needs a bit of a prod. 

“Ward is a bit tense today,” Bernie says simply. Raf hangs his head. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles into her knees. “We—Fletch and I, um, we had a bit of a spat, this morning. Normally we keep everything, us, off the ward but…” 

Raf trails off and Bernie waits, knowing sometimes it is best to be patient with people in turmoil and wait for them to talk to you; knows that sometimes it is enough to simply be there for them to talk at. She tries to keep her face soft and open; she needs her team back and on the ward and if she has to listen to Raf in trouble for five minutes she is more than happy to.

“We’ve both been so busy lately,” Raf starts and Bernie knows she was right to wait. “And Fletch is about to go on nights, and we’ve just been, um, _apart_ … for too long and, um.” Raf takes a deep breath before rushing ahead. “He put the empty milk container back in the fridge while the kids were having breakfast and we ended up almost shouting the roof off.” He flaps his hands in the air as he speaks; his arms fall heavily into his lap when he stops and he looks at Bernie a bit forlorn.

“Raf, no single fight is ever that bad,” Bernie says with what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “Even the ones that seem like they are, they’re, um, they’re never actually _that_ bad, not if you’re still there at the end of the day.” Raf nods like he understands but still looks miserable. “Plus, Fletch isn’t on the ward tonight so you can always kiss and make up when you get home.”

Bernie bumps him with her elbow and waggles her eyebrows. Raf huffs out his nose and cracks a smile. 

“You’re right,” he says, nodding his head and smiling to himself. 

“I usually am,” Bernie says, slapping her hands down on her knees and pushing herself standing. She turns back to Raf, who is still sitting. “But we have a job to do now,” she reminds him. “So worry about home when you get there, yeah?”

“Of course, Colonel.” He jumps to his feet and mock salutes with a grin. Bernie lets out a bark of laughter and grins back. Raf smooths down his scrub bottoms and they both walk back onto the ward in better sorts. 

The ward is much calmer for the rest of the afternoon after that. And if Bernie just so happens to see the two of them sneak away into a supply closet later that shift, and just so happens to turn a blind eye, then no one is the wiser, obviously. They both seem in better sorts for the rest of the afternoon—not that Bernie would know why that is exactly, of course —but the ward in much better spirits after that so it seems a moot point anyway. The worry in Bernie’s mind settles down again; dissipates so much she barely registers it anymore.

 

*

 

Until Wednesday rolls around and with it her replacement class.

Her alarm goes off early morning and she slaps around her head to hit the snooze button. She swings her legs out of bed with barely opened eyes and her feet hit the ground before she remembers what day it is; she almost throws her phone across the room when she realises she forgot to turn off her alarm the night before. 

She gets up anyway, no point in trying to get back to sleep now, and grumbles the whole way down to the kitchen.

She rubs her face as she puts the kettle on and pours herself a bowl of cereal. She is crunching through a bowl of Lucky Charms when she remembers what she has planned for her day. She remembers Serena and the worry races to the front of her mind again. The next mouthful does not crunch right. 

She stays tense until class time, arrives earlier than usual and plays with her phone to pass the time. The doors swing open five minutes before class and she walks in with the rest of the crowd. She sees Serena at the front of class; catches her eye and smiles. 

Serena smiles like she has every other class and Bernie releases the breath she did not know she had been holding. Might have been holding all week. She smiles back wider and offers a tiny wave before walking to the back of the class. Even with a different class she still manages to get her usual blue mat.

Halfway through class has Bernie lying on her back in the reclining goddess, starring up at the ceiling with her legs in a diamond: knees far apart and her feet together. She breathes and feels her hips open up and relax; her eyes flutter shut and she hums. Bernie hears footsteps near her head and opens her eyes; looks up to see Serena standing above her with a smirk. Berniegrins up at her with big wide eyes and Serena’s face crinkles with fondness. 

She tilts her head back to watch Serena weaves through the mats back to the front of the studio, issuing gentle encouragement as she walks. Sees Serena stand at the front of the class and looks up at the roof again. Class continues and Bernie is sure she has not messed things up completely after all. 

She breaths the last of relaxation and sits up. She is hungry, as always, and hangs back, as usual. And as usual, a few other students hang back too. Like last week, Serena is absolutely swamped and Bernie waits while the obviously familiar group have a rather animated conversation. 

Bernie starts to feel uneasy again; the conversation continues and she feels like an intruder. She pushes off the wall and and heads out the exit, half hoping to hear Serena call out to her like she did last week. She hears door shut behind her instead and walks to her car trying to ignore the disappointment tickling the back of her throat. 

She goes home and potters around until it is time to go to her therapy session that afternoon. She fills Helena in on her fortnight but skirts around the unwarranted disappointment, not really sure she can put what she is feeling into words just yet. She focuses on work and ends up mentioning about Raf and somehow Bernie finds herself in the middle of a paragraph about making friends of acquaintances before she realises where her brain is heading. 

She touches on Serena and spending time with her outside of class and Helena congratulates her on being open to the people around her. Assures her that even if opening up a little is all that happens Bernie was right to try. Trying too hard is what Bernie feels like, if she is honest, but she does feel better about her whole situation come end of session.

Which is a blessing, really, given the frantic, gruelling pace of the next week. The weather turns horribly hot with the beginning of summer and the hospital is flooded with heat strokes and dehydration fainters. ED is swamped and AAU takes the overflow. 

Bernie is so focused on prompt treatment so they can move patients out and back home that she barely has a chance to catch her breathe, let alone worry about the state of her new, um, acquaintance? She cannot call Serena a friend, as much as she wants to, but she is definitely someone Bernie is on passing acknowledgement with so acquaintance seems to fit.

Not that she has time to worry about terminology, when the heatwave is followed by a wet snap and the trauma unit is overflowing with RTC’s. Bernie barely remembers the blur of abdominal injuries as she repairs spleen after kidney after intestine; every other organ pops up at some point too and the back-to-back surgeries seem to go on for days. Bernie is so swamped in trauma repairs that she does not blink when someone from HR calls to swap her scheduled Wednesday off this week for the Tuesday the week after instead. 

She barely resisters that she missed her class to come in and cover the cavalry until long after the fact. Nor does she notice the clock come Thursday when she would be taking her regular class. Her body, however, does notice; she ends her shift with a tight back. She goes for a run that night and stretches more than usual to try and alleviate the tension. 

Her back is tense but manageable when she wakes up the next day. Goes to work and does not quite grasp that it is Friday until she gets a message from Charlotte saying she is out of exam mode and another asking if they can they have dinner that weekend.

Bernie shoots off a reply as she sits down to move through her pile of paperwork, suggesting her Tuesday off. She gets a reply as she closes folder three, saying that Cam is free on Monday night and wants to come too, if she can manage after her shift ends. She sends back “of course! Wld love to see u both” before putting her phone away. Turns her attention back to the stack and tackles it with a smile so wide Bernie feels like her face might crack.

 

*

 

She clock off on Monday evening with time enough to cook but without the energy to be bothered. Decides to pick up take-awayon the way home instead. She doubts the kids will mind; she knows how they feel about her cooking. She walks into her favourite Chinese place feeling absolutely ravenous and buys far too much food for three.

She gets home and sets up the living room for an indoor picnic. Goes to shower the ward off her and comes back to the living room pink and scrubbed and fresh-faced. Considers taking five minutes to stretch out the kink in her back but hears a knock on the door before she gets a chance.

She opens her front door to see a smiling Charlotte, bottle of wine in hand, and Cameron stood behind her shoulder clutching a cake box. Bernie smiles at them both and pulls each of them into a one armed hug as they step inside. They head straight for the kitchen via the living room andshort when the see the set up. 

“Well, it’s not like we were ever a Sunday night dinner at the table type of family, is it?” Cam says over Charlotte’s shoulder and the two women smile. 

Both Cam and Charlotte blanch when they see how much food Bernie has bought but grin when they recognise their favourite dishes in the mix. Bernie reheats it as Cam puts the dessert in the fridge and Charlotte rummages around for wine glasses. Cam and Bernie ferry out the food to the living room and Charlotte passes them both a glass. They toast and gulp a mouthful before piling their plates high and digging in.

Bernie buries Cam in questions in between mouthfuls. Asks how classes are going, how he is handling final year, if he is thinking of postgraduate studies (subtle prod in that direction), how his friends are (she knows some of their names), if he is seeing anyone (skirts around his last disastrous dating attempt), if he has any new hobbies. 

Cam responds to the bombardment of questions as best he can: “fine, as well as I can, possibly, they’re great thanks, no not at the moment, I, ah, don’t really have time to do anything but read at the moment, Mum”. 

Charlotte cracks jokes at opportune times to give Cam a chance to take his breath and the room is filled with the sounds of laughter and sipping and chewing. Bernie feels her cheeks flush red and happy the entire meal. The barrage slows as they stuff themselves and Cam starts quizzing Bernie in turn. Knows that has has started classes with Charlotte and starts needling them about it. 

“So, how’s yoga?” He tries for an innocent tone but both of them know him too well for that.

“Fun,” Bernie surprises them all by speaking first. They both blink at her and she ruffles. “What? It is, the classes are good.”

“They are, so great,” Charlotte agrees. “And Serena is amazing. Cam you should see her, she’s so fit — she did a demonstration for the first class of the term and she stood on her head for like a minute and talked to us the whole time.” 

An image of Serena pops into Bernie mind: flushed-faced and fringe flat on the ground, holding herself steady with flexed arms, tight core and legs taut, painted toes pointing to the ceiling. 

“That sounds, very impressive.” Somehow Bernie manages to keep her voice steady.

“It was awesome!” Charlotte says with feeling.

“She is a very good instructor,” Bernie adds and leaves it at that; scoffs the last few mouthfuls of food from her plate and sits back to wait for the other two to finish.

Bernie collects the plates once they are done and takes them into the kitchen; drops them in the sink to worry about later. Cam follows her, opens the fridge to look at dessert and groans. Closes the fridge and puts the kettle on instead. Bernie puts the tea bags on the bench while Cam collects three mugs. She carries out her cup while Cam takes his and Charlotte’s back into the living room. 

They sit back and sip while they digest, all eager for dessert but far too full. Bernie chats about the ward, mindful to leave out personal gossip like a lover’s tiff, but gladly chats about Morven when Charlotte asks after her. 

Bernie was less than surprised but no less pleased to find the two of them hitting it off one afternoon, after Charlotte dropped in on the ward only to find Bernie elbow deep in an appendectomy. Morven had kept Charlotte company until Bernie scrubbed out; she had walked into her office to find the two of them thick as thieves and giggling. 

Cam redirects the conversation towards patient injuries and Bernie gives him as many gory details of limb injuries as she can. He listens in rapture until he remembers Bernie has an anatomy book he wants to borrow. She manages to roll up onto her feet and checks the living room bookshelf. Draws a blank and leaves her tea behind as Cam and Charlotte follow her to the bedroom.

Cam leans against the doorframe as she starts skimming the shelf on the far side of the room and Charlotte tries to make herself comfortable on the bed.

“Jesus, Mum!” Charlotte shrieks as she pushes herself back off the mattress. “What is wrong with this bed?”

“What?” Bernie turns to see Charlotte standing by the side of her bed, bending down to poke at it with disgusted look on her face.

“What’s the point of regular exercise and stretching if you’re just going to waste it on this horrid thing!”

“It’s not that bad!” Bernie shouts back, a bit perturbed.   

“It is!” Charlotte flaps her hands dismissively. “Look, we were going to be shopping to finish setting up your spare room properly soon, why don’t we go mattress shopping instead?”

“Lottie—” Bernie starts, hoping that the childhood nickname will strengthen the pleading.

“We can go tomorrow and get you a proper mattress that won’t ruin your back.” Bernie opens her mouth to protest and Charlotte talks over her. “I’m not taking no for an answer,” she says in _that_ tone: the one she picked from Major Wolfe when she was seven and Bernie was home for the whole of the summer holidays.

“Oh, alright!” Bernie knows when she has lost and throws up her hands in mock surrender. She turns her head towards the door frame and pins Cam with a stare. “You’d better be coming too, mister.” He pulls a face and she shakes her curls. “If I have to suffer you can suffer with me.”

Cam groans and Charlotte giggles. Bernie sighs and says it is time for dessert. Watches both her children rush towards the kitchen for cake. Follows behind them with a smile, rather looking forward to the next day, though she would deny it if either of them asked.

 

*

 

Turns out Bernie is not very good at mattress shopping, which is probably why it was never at the top of her list of things to do with her day off. She assumes that prodding a mattress a bit will be enough to suss out if it is decent but Charlotte insists on lying down on every mattress. 

Bernie follows Charlotte’s lead and lies down on each one that passes the prod test. It takes about an hour but they finally narrow the entire floor down to half a dozen, which Charlotte narrows down to just three. Bernie lies down on one of them and tries to compare it to the other two. Charlotte is patient enough to lie down beside Bernie. Cam is not and takes matters into his own hands. 

He kicks off his shoes and scrambles onto the bed to stand in the middle of the mattress in between Charlotte and Bernie. Before either of them resister what he has done, he starts jumping on the bed. They both shriek as they bounce up into the air and back down on to the mattress.

“No, Cam! What, are you—doing?” Bernie yelps out in between bounces.

“I’m testing, obviously.” Cam smiles at his own faux seriousness and jumps faster. Charlotte manages to scramble off the mattress with a giggle but Bernie gets trapped with the new rhythm.

“Cam, stop. Jesus, Cam!” She pushes out between lungfuls of laugher. “Let me off, please.”

Cam jumps down and races to the next mattress on the shortlist. Bernie shuffles to the edge of the bed and tries to catch her breath as she smiles wide. She stands up and sees Cameron jump down from the second mattress with a scowl on his face. 

“Rubbish,” he spits out. 

Bernie’s smile widens at his glower and she titters as he rushes over to the next bed. She strides over to the mattress as he jumps up high. The look on his face is pure joy and Bernie starts honking.

“This one, definitely!” He shouts and lets out a cackle.

Bernie has to hold on to Charlotte’s shoulders to keep herself upright, doubled over and tears streaming down her face. She is certain they are going to be kicked out and sure enough a store clerk comes over to tell them to leave. Cam stops jumping but does not get off the mattress and Bernie point in his direction. 

“I’ll take that one,” she says, still wheezing slightly. The clerk pauses at her tone, looks at the mattress Cam is still standing on, and turns back to squint at Bernie. She stares him down. “How much extra for same day delivery?”

The figure the clerk quotes her is horrendous. Bernie looks at her beaming children and feels the ache in her cheeks and thinks it is worth it. She hands over a credit card and signs the paperwork still smiling. 

They leave the store and Cam suggests they get ice cream. They walk around the mall licking at three-scoop high wafer cones and window shopping. Eventually Charlotte has to beg off, saying she has a date to get to, and Cam has reading to do. 

They head off and Bernie walks back to her car with sticky hands; washes them as soon as she gets home. Sits down on the couch to rub her feet and ends up napping her afternoon away.

She wakes up to the buzzing of the intercom. Checks the time and assumes it is her new mattress arriving. The delivery boys help her heft it up the apartment block stairs and get it into the flat. They offer to help her move it around the house but she begs them off and they leave. 

She goes to strip the mattress in her room and pushes it into the spare room down and across the hall. She props it against the wall to worry about later. Walks back to the front door and starts pushing the new mattress towards her room. 

Everything is going swimmingly until she starts yanking it to angle into her room. Her back seizes as she pulls it into the room and she lets out a strangled cry. She keeps her back as rigid as she can and uses one hand to guide the mattress; lets it fall down and land on the edge of the bed frame. 

Bernie shuffles towards the kitchen to get an ice pack and painkillers and goes to lie down in the living room. She whimpers for ten minutes until the painkillers kick in. She ventures an assessment of her lower back; it is sore, but she can still move, and she pulls herself up to her feet with minimal clawing at the couch.

She walks towards her room and bends deep at the knee to push the mattress up onto the frame. It moves easily and settles where it is supposed to. She stands up again and grabs a flat sheet from the drawer; throws it onto the mattress and does not bother to tuck it in. Throws her old blankets and pillow onto the mattress and falls onto the bed still in her clothes.

 

*

 

She wakes up to her alarm and a groggy Bernie’s forgets to be careful of her body. She flails her hand out looking for her phone and jerks her back again. She grimaces as she gets up and her back reminds her that it is angry. She takes some painkillers with breakfast and heads to work. 

She is stiff on the ward but manages as best she can. Darts around Raf’s concerned face and Fletch’s probing joke; mentions her back is sore when Morven asks buts assures her not to worry. She remembers to walk slowly, to sit up properly at her desk, and is thankful for fewer surgeries than usual. She clocks off on time and ices her back before bed.

She wakes up on Thursday as stiff as she was the morning before. Manages the housework just fine but class is a different matter entirely. She arrives after Charlotte for once and Bernie can feel her watching as she slowly walks from her car to the studio door. Charlotte comments on how stiff Bernie seems in lieu of a greeting. Bernie brushes her off and they walk into class.

She tries her best to move through the warm up stretches but the pull at her back is too much and she starts sweating. She is grateful when Serena says to take a breather after their warm up to watch her demonstrate a new pose. The room watches Serena and then moves into the stretch at her instruction while she walks around the room. 

Bernie tries moving but her back aches so fiercely she has to bite back a whimper; stays sitting on her haunches with her hands on the floor in front of her. She scrunches up her eyes and feels her face grimace instead as she clenches her fists against the mat. 

She feels, rather than sees, Serena kneeling by her elbow. She opens her eyes to see Serena looking at her with concerned eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Serena whispers. “Bad back?

“Yeah, did it day before yesterday, hefting a mattress. Felt it go.”

“Have you seen someone about it?”

“Well, no—”

“Stop. Now.” It is an order if Bernie ever heard one.

“But…” 

“Stop now, in case you make it worse. I’ll have a look at it after class, to make sure you haven’t done anything serious.” 

Bernie takes the words to heart but blinks with uncertainty anyway. “Um, what…what should I do instead?”

“Nothing,” Serena says, as if it the most obvious thing in the world. “I just told you that.” 

“But, um, I—” Bernie starts. “I’m not very good at doing nothing.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Serena says flatly. “You can take a nap, if you like? As long as you promise not to snore.”

“Like that’ll happen,” Charlotte interjects. Has a thought. “What if she waits for you upstairs?” 

“Yes, that’d work. You can potter around until class is over.” Serena pins her with a look. “As long I can trust you not to hurt yourself?”

“You can trust me,” Bernie replies before she can catch herself. It just falls out of her mouth, words far heavier than they ought to be. 

“Can I now?” Serena quirks her eyebrow down at Bernie, but the smile is all fondness. “Good to know.”

Bernie crinkles her nose and squints at Serena, fights the urge to poke out her tongue, and leans forward on her hands to get up. The scrunch becomes as grimace as she tries to lift herself to her feet. 

“But I might need a hand up,” Bernie grits out through clenched teeth.

“Of course.” Serena holds out a hand to clasp Bernie’s and bounces on her back foot. Reaches over to wrap an arm around Bernie’s waist and hoists her up. Bernie manages to bite back a groan when her back twinges at the pressure as she stands, but once she is upright walking seems easy enough. 

“You going to be alright getting upstairs?” Charlotte asks uncertainly. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Bernie replies as Serena lets her go. “You enjoy class and I’ll see you later.”

Bernie slowly weaves between the mats towards the internal door in the corner of the room. She gets up the stairs well enough, admittedly curious about upstairs, thinking it is more studio space.

It is not till she gets to the top of the stairs and sees an open-plan living room that it registers upstairs is actually Serena’s flat. That she is in Serena’s home. Where Serena lives. And that she has left her bag down stairs and has nothing to keep herself occupied. 

She sees a bookshelf on the far wall and assumes Serena would not mind if she helped herself to something to read. She shuffles over and starts skimming the titles, curious about what Serena reads; there is a heavy dose of reference texts on the lower shelves but the higher levels are fiction. She recognises a few names but most draw a blank so she picks out something thin at random. _Hermione._ The front cover looks interesting enough she so settles herself into a chair with high arms and a back that looks like it has a lot of support to give and starts to read. 

She expected to skim it, just a way to pass the time: read and barely take anything in. But the first sentence becomes the third page before she has a chance to draw breath and she has left the halfway mark far behind by the time she hears footsteps clomp up the stairs. 

“Can I borrow this?” Bernie asks before either Serena or Charlotte have a chance to greet her. Serena blinks at her and the book in her hand. “Sorry, I mean, I left my bag downstairs and needed something to pass the time—I hoped you wouldn’t mind?” Bernie ventures and Serena raises an eyebrow; shakes her head and smirks. Bernie breathes out a sigh of relief. “May I borrow this, please? It’s really very good and I’d like to finish it.”

“Of course. Keep it as long as you like. Now, to business. You, face down on the floor so I can look at your back.” She points at Bernie and gestures towards the thick carpet underfoot before turning away. “Charlotte, dear, you make yourself comfortable,” she calls over her shoulder before disappearing further into the flat and out of sight. 

“What are you still doing here?” Bernie asks as she stands gingerly.

“I’m driving you home, is what.” She walks towards Bernie with her arms held out to help. Bernie waves them away.

“It’s okay, I can manage,” she grunts out as she straightens and takes a few steps forward.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d hurt yourself?” 

“Didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t think it that bad, to be honest.” 

Charlotte pouts and retreats to the lounge. Bernie starts to kneel when she sees Serena return with a huge blanket. 

“Wait a second.” Serena throws out the blanket to spread over the carpet; grabs a cushion next to Charlotte and throws it towards Bernie. “Sorry I haven’t got a massage table anymore. This will have to do,” she says by way of explanation.

“It’s quite alright,” Bernie says and starts lowering herself to the ground with a groan.

“You’ve taken painkillers already, haven’t you?”

“This morning, with breakfast,” Bernie breathes out as she stretches out on the floor. Feels her back actually relax; buries her face in the thick blanket and hums out as her back unclenches.

“That was _ages_ ago, Bernie,” Serena chastises. “And you came to class like this?”

Bernie does not reply. Breathes in a nose-full of cotton with a hint of cinnamon and vanilla and breathes out in a rush. Reaches out to pull the cushion towards her and gathers it under her neck to put some breathing space between her mouth and the floor.

“It’s all that army nonsense, always wanting to soldier on,” Charlotte looks up from the phone on her hand. “And what a good little soldier you are,” she teases down at Bernie.  

“You’re still young enough to be disowned, you know.” Even face down and immobilised and hugging a cushion Bernie can manage gruffness. Serena laughs at the both of them. 

“Charlotte, be a dear and go to the bathroom cabinet past the bedroom—it’s through that door there—third drawer down, bring back the gold box? And some water, and a biscuit or something from the kitchen, feel free to help yourself while you wait.”

Charlotte scampers off and comes back with painkillers and choc-mint wafers. Bernie swallows the pills down and crunches on a mouthful of biscuit while Charlotte flops on the couch and works her way through the packet. Bernie settles down on the floor again.

“All settled?”Serena asks.  Bernie mumbles in response.“Okay, tell me where it’s worst, alright?” Serena asks as she starts working her thumbs into the muscles between Bernie’s shoulder blades. She moves down and Bernie tenses up with a hiss. “Sorry,” Serena apologises as her hands ease off the pressure. 

“It’s alright, that’s just, ah,” Bernie hisses as Serena hits another sore spot. Hands clenched in the blanket. “It’s bit tender.”

“Okay, I need to check something. May I pull your singlet up, please? It’s in the way.” 

Bernie nods and Serena pulls the material up to expose Bernie’s back. Leaves the singlet draped over the back of Bernie’s head and falling down either side of her face and blocking out Bernie’s view of the room. Bernie breathes in warm air she knows will go stale very quickly and huffs; pulls the top off completely and bundles it in her hand.

“Oh, of course your tights are high waisted,” Serena says with an exasperated sigh. “Bernie, I need to get at your lower back, can you can wiggle them down a bit?” 

Bernie grumbles as she wiggles the band of her tights down as best she can and manages a very good impression of a worm in the process. Serena offers a helping hand and ends up pulling the tights low on Bernie’s hips.

“Sorry if my hands are cold,” Serena says as she starts working at Bernie’s lower back. Bernie hisses and Serena sucks her teeth. 

“Is she alright?” Charlotte asks with a crinkle in her brow.

Serena does not reply; presses on the muscle low on Bernie’s back and to the right of her spine and Bernie whimpers.

“Thought so,” Serena says as she eases off the pressure. 

“What’s wrong?” Charlotte voice is all concern. 

“Lower back is pretty badly inflamed but it is just a strain, thankfully,” Serena says. “Nothing some painkillers and rest won’t fix in a few days but a massage wouldn’t go amiss. You’ve got time, right?”

Bernie nods into the blanket and relaxes as Serena gently massages her muscles loose; hands moving over her hips, up and down her back, to the shoulder blades and neck, and back down the lower lumbar. Bernie is practically asleep and probably drooling by the time Serena gently pats her hips and removes her hands completely.

“You know, you’re lucky it wasn’t worse.” Bernie sits up and she catches Serena’s warning stare. “You could have easily sprained it or slipped a disk your muscles are that tight.”

“Well, I’ve always been a little tense,” Bernie says as she pulls her singlet back on over the top of her sports bra.

“Getting blown up probably didn’t help.”

Bernie looks over to see Charlotte curling in on herself and wringing her hand slightly. Knows what that face mean. She shuffles over and reaches out to touch her arm. “I’m fine, Lottie, honestly.” 

“Of course you are,” Charlotte says, shaking her head; still looking down. “I know you are.” She looks up and catches Bernie’s eye. Flashes her a small smile and grabs her phone to distract herself; actually diverts her attention when she sees a new text and pulls her hands away from Bernie.

Bernie sees Charlotte smile at her phone screen and exhales; looks back at Serena to find her face bewildered and a touch horrified.

“Blown up?” Serena asks and Bernie would have sworn she heard a quiver in her voice. 

“Ah, yeah, I…An IED, in Afghanistan. Four years ago.”

Bernie gets lost, for a second, in the flash of a field full of poppies and ringing in her ears so loud she can hear nothing else. The sky was blue and the flowers red and the smoke grey; so was her sight before she thought of Alex and everything went black. 

Bernie feels herself tense, reminds herself to breathe, and lets the memory pass. She comes back to the room: Serena looking at her, face gentle but obviously concerned. 

“Mum?” Charlotte calls, looking up from her phone, more than a hint of worry.

Bernie reach outs to pat Charlotte’s hand again. Charlotte smiles and Bernie smiles back. Looks over at Serena again and continues. 

“I was pretty badly injured, while on deployment. Flew back for major surgery.” She sees Serena’s eye flick down to her to her chest; to the top of the scar visible above the top of her singlet. To the scar Bernie normally keeps hidden under button ups and high collars. Hidden in everything but her exercise gear. “It went well, obviously, and I’m a quick healer so they discharged me without too much concern. Rehab sorted the rest out.”

Serena nods, her eyes on Bernie’s face now and her expression less stricken. “And you’ve still got a practitioner, a physio, or an osteo?”

“Well, no, I, um…” Bernie trails off and looks at the ground. “I try a new one, every now and then, but they never last long. I’m a bit fussy about who puts their hands on me.” 

She takes one look at Serena’s face and know she is in for it now.

“Bernie, you know better! I mean honestly, you need to find a professional,” Serena insists with a tone that makes Bernie feels the urge to stand at attention. “I’ll hound you until you do, just so you know.” Bernie nods gravely and Serena’s face softens slightly. “And if you like,” she pauses, mulls a thought over in her mind, before slowly letting it fall from her mouth. “I can look after you—it—until you find someone else?” 

“Would you?” Bernie looks at her, knowing her face is hopelessly hopeful. “That, ah, that would be nice.” 

“Don’t worry, Bernie.” Serena pauses and smiles wide. “I’ve got your back,” she says, giggling at her own joke.

Charlotte groans and Bernie smiles. Smiles as she thanks Serena and wishes her good night. Smiles as she follows Charlotte out of the flat and to the car and during the drive home. Is still smiling as she curls up into a properly made bed, freshly scrubbed in clean pyjamas, and falls asleep. 


End file.
